


My dearest friend

by hongmunmu



Series: Life, Death, Time, Earth [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vague, jiraoro, more jiraoro NONSENSE, this was inspired by a fic i read in russian a little while ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:23:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hongmunmu/pseuds/hongmunmu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jiraiya is like the sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My dearest friend

It is in these nights that Orochimaru proves he is human.

                                Sunlight forgotten. The moon shines gentle, in silver caress where the light touches. The beams filtered through, and in the pale slivers shone dust particles, floating weightlessly, tiny things that floated by before disappearing once more into the shadows. And in the pale light of dawn they held each other. One in shadow, and the other in light. The stark brightness of it threw dramatic shadows across the latter’s face. Highlighting arched cheekbones, prominent eyelids. Jiraiya has not seen Orochimaru cry for a long time.

The serpent feels contaminated. He is bacteria, a parasite.

It’s unsightly. He’s disgusted with himself.

There is a bitter taste in his mouth. And he would refrain from kisses lest the chemicals plague the taller man too.

 

Jiraiya is saintly. This coarse creature with his booming laughter and hair that put the moon to shame. Enough so that she would hide her face behind the clouds.

 

Though he was not laughing now.

 

Tempestuously their bodies intertwine, kneeling on the tatami, futon quilts mussed around them. They do not speak conventional passion; their bodies cold. Yet in tiny ministrations and sighs, murmured words, sweet nothings beneath the hitches in their breath, they saw nothing but each other. Jiraiya’s hands in the small of Orochimaru’s back. Two pure-white souls stained dark. Two contrasting bodies. Long, thin strands of black hair, twisted around tan fingers. This was the only way they knew how to show love.

The moon’s rays shine against Orochimaru’s swathes of dark hair. They ring a halo around his head. From the reflecting light shone thin beams of the spectrum, superimposed. A holy crown, thorns of light. And Jiraiya thought, my God, this cannot be real. Jiraiya was unaware of the breeds of wildflowers that grew at his feet.

And it was reminiscient - the manner in which the smaller man’s eyes swelled, and white hands came up to drag the tears away from indigo-stained lids - of previous times. Of years long forgotten. Of the first night Orochimaru came, kimono stained in blood and dirt, Hiruzen at his side, and Jiraiya’s father said “You may stay here.” And Jiraiya’s mother said “You may stay here.” And Jiraiya said “You’ll be alright”. And children are known to be blunt in their comfort, but some things never change. The way Jiraiya held him hadn’t.

A perfect shinobi will hold their emotions close. Repress and ignore.

But humans cannot let their loved ones suffer silently.

Not here, beneath the silvery blessing that crawled across the tatami so iridescently. Yes, the moon drew out things that the sun could not. The dark light was so much more forgiving of blue.

And in this circumstance, it would mean more. Jiraiya, who shone like the sun; who shone regardless of where he may go. Orochimaru, who reflected off him; a dimmer glow, a lesser light that shone only in darkness.  Jiraiya knew it well, Orochimaru brought out of him emotions that did not normally plague his mind. Around the serpent he found temptation. Hatred, pity, and love. A love so deep.

 

My dearest friend.

 

My other half.

My enemy.

My lover.

 

 I’ve loved you so long.

 

They remained, naked bodies, naked souls, kneeling before each other. Before the eyes of God.

In the dim moonlight thrown across their shared apartment.

     


End file.
